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Phantom Limb

I’ve been writing letters in my head all day. To one person. It’s become this compulsion, and I suddenly have the driving need to put all these accumulated words on paper. I know I will probably never send the letters, but I want them. I want to write down everything I will never get to say. I want them to pile up in a box somewhere. Letter after letter. I want to hoard them, all these letters without responses, all these missives that will never see their intended reader.

I want to hold them in my hands, the physical manifestation of emotion. Of thought. I want to watch that box fill up, watch the days go by in the most tangible of ways. I want to record these feelings, because I’m so sure I’ll never feel precisely this way again.

It’s so… frivolous of me. But I think I’m going to head to the store tomorrow and buy some stationary. I know, I know- why buy stationary if nobody’s actually reading these letters? Why not just write them on plain notebook paper? I don’t know. I have given up trying to understand this compulsion. I just know I have to do it.

In other news, all of my worldly possessions are once again with me. I have discovered that 1/3 of said possessions are my books. I know I don’t really own much, but that still seems like a ridiculous fraction. But pleasantly ridiculous.

After spending so long slogging through my last book, I burned through an entire novel today. True, Her Fearful Symmetry is much less dense than The Master and Margarita, but it still seemed strange to speed through it so quickly. It was a strangely beautiful book, but filled me with this profound sadness. Bittersweet and tragic, it left me feeling a little melancholy (nothing a good night of sleep won’t fix).

Speaking of sleep, I had the oddest dream last night that I was The Doctor and Rose was with me, and I had to make this portal with the sonic screwdriver to escape this hellhound that was chasing us. Except that the portal randomly sent us to a new world each time- a world from a piece of classic literature. Rose and I ended up in what I believe was Nazi-occupied France (I have no idea what piece of literature we were supposed to be in). It was amusing in that I was very obviously not me, I was The Doctor- it was his exasperation I felt when Rose ran off, and his fear when she was in danger, and his love for her.

Anyway, I was reminded of this odd little dream because, in Her Fearful Symmetry, Julia and Valentina watch an episode of Doctor Who at one point, and I geeked out when I realized it was The Girl in the Fireplace. Which, now that I think about it, fit in disturbingly well with the plot… Regardless, it was a fun moment for me.

The ramblings of an often drunken, always crazy, sometimes intelligent twenty-something gamer chick/science geek who updates less frequently than she used to (and would make a 'quality over quantity' comment here, but she makes no promises as to the quality of her posts).

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